


the line reserved for angels

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M, Porn, Post Game, boys with some sexual tension do the do for the first time, i don't know how to tag things, i love you so much ooh pls throw me on the bed and take me oooh, king xander is best xander, let me clarify, who needs a wife?, xander bails on a ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Xander is meant to consider his future bride at the ball. Instead he decides maybe he doesn't need a bride at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> one of the treasures that I owe fireemblemhax on tumblr. 
> 
> also god bless the team of people who harassed me for three weeks to finish this and especially plakumi for looking at it and reminding me how to grammar.

It is the fourth or fifth woman that Xander has turned down that evening. She is lovely, no doubt. She seeks a dance with her king but he cannot be bothered. Still, from behind him he hears a sigh and he turns to glance over his shoulder at the source. His lips form a tiny, half smile before he can even manage to ask “What is troubling you, Laslow?”

Laslow opens his mouth, but before he can form any words he closes it again. Xander turns to face him entirely, and Peri glances at him from her position not three paces away. A whisper of a blush touches his cheeks before he sucks in a breath and asks “May I speak freely?”

“I’ve already asked you to speak your mind.” Xander answers, and Laslow raises his gloved hand to gesture at the disappearing form of the maiden in the crowd.

“Your Majesty, she was  _ gorgeous _ . You’ve mentioned that you are under pressure to choose a wife. Perhaps you don’t have to turn down  _ every _ beautiful woman who approaches you? Besides… none of them have even so much as  _ glanced _ at me. Perhaps if you took a woman out to the dance floor I could live vicariously through you.”

Xander rolls his eyes at the complaint. Peri giggles but looks away. He has no interest in picking a wife, and certainly not tonight. “Are you implying that I am hindering your chances at finding love?” He asks. Laslow blinks twice, and he parts his lips… but Xander waves it off. “Perhaps you should both enjoy the party? I have plenty of work to finish. You may both be dismissed.”

“You’re leaving?” Peri asks. She looks almost as confused as Laslow looks bothered. He has made his decision to leave. He has simply grown… tired. Admittedly he is also irritated with Laslow’s words, but he does his best to hide it. After all, Laslow is not wrong. “Are you sure?”

“M-Milord, I didn’t mean-“ Laslow begins, but he closes his mouth when Xander looks at him. He did not mean what? To insult him, to anger him, to remind him of things he would prefer to ignore? Xander is not angry, not truly, only a bit miffed.

“I am quite certain, Peri. Please, enjoy yourself. I will see you in the morning, with your assignments for the day. Laslow, you as well.”

Laslow stares at him a second longer with a tiny frown on his lips before he clears his throat and says, “Will you allow me to escort you back to your room?” Laslow knows that he is capable of walking to his room alone. He has something on his mind, and his brows come together almost imperceptibly.

There is no reason to deny him that request, although Xander is certain that it will only result in the tension between them surfacing. Laslow would do better just to leave Xander alone… To let him come to terms with his frustration and swallow down the discontent. It is how he has always coped with such matters… but Laslow always seems to worry too much on Xander’s behalf. “If it will put you at ease,” he answers.

Peri smiles and bows at her waist for him. “Good evening, Your Majesty!” she says, and Xander does not think she is very bothered by being dismissed. He is hopeful she will enjoy the gala.

Laslow falls into step at his side while they walk to Xander’s quarters. He is silent at first, the only sound between them the echo of their shoes on the stone floor. He sighs before he tries to speak… and eventually, as they wind their way through the halls of Krakenburg, away from the excitement of the ballrooms and up the stairs, he finally finds his words: “I’ve upset you.”

Xander purses his lips together in a tighter line than usual and says nothing. He is upset, but it is hardly Laslow’s fault. All he has done is state the obvious. The silence is much thicker between them then, but Xander isn’t sure how to break it without confirming Laslow’s fears. He realizes much too late that his silence is worse.

Laslow has taken to biting his lower lip and staring at the ground. When he notices, Xander sighs and reaches out for his hand. Laslow is dressed in a waistcoat and cravat and he looks handsome and like he belongs at that ball. However, he is on duty, and so he still wears gloves and lets a sword hang at his side. Xander has forgone his armor and weapons, that night. His hand is bare where it wraps around the leather of Laslow’s glove, but it does not bother him. It appears the gesture is appreciated, because Laslow squeezes his hand instantly.

“I’m so sorry, Milord, I never meant to imply that…” He trails off, and they come to a stop in front of Xander’s room. Xander reaches out to push open the door. With a swing of their hands he gestures for Laslow to enter.

“Come inside, Laslow. We may talk,” Xander says. Laslow nods and steps into the room, and he waits patiently for Xander to shut the door behind them.

Their hands are still joined together, and Laslow raises his other hand to overlay the first when he says, “I never meant to imply that I am unhappy, or that you should be racing to your marriage.” He raises Xander’s hand gently to his lips, and kisses his knuckles. “I only just meant—!”

Laslow’s silence is bought with a kiss, pressing tight against his lips. Xander does not want to hear it, although he knows it is high time they have this conversation. It is unfair to his retainer, of course. Laslow is an affectionate man. 

 

The first time Xander reached out and took Laslow’s hand was the day of his coronation, to settle his nerves, and while Laslow seemed surprised he squeezed it reassuringly. They grew much closer after that, and when they were alone (and only when they were alone) Xander sometimes took his hand to draw comfort and strength and reassurance that he was making the proper choices as king. Laslow always let him. Sure enough the first time Xander ever kissed him, Laslow calmly allowed that, as well. Whether it was because he harbored similar feelings for his king or simply because he was doing his duty to serve him in any way he could… it had not mattered at the time.

But this is now, and this kiss is different. This kiss silences him but Laslow leans into it, squeezes Xander’s hand tighter in his own, and he chases Xander’s lips when he pulls away. “Aren’t you unhappy, Laslow?” Xander asks. He watches as Laslow opens his mouth to say no, but the word comes out as an undignified squeak.

“P-Pardon?” He asks. Xander has put him in an uncomfortable position. He has asked him if he is happy or not, knowing that he shares a romantic relationship that is doomed to fall to pieces. There is no correct answer. To say he is unhappy is rude to his king, but to say he is happy is surely a lie.

“Why do you let me kiss you, Laslow, when you know that one day I must take a bride? Would you not prefer to be at the ball, right now, winning the heart of an unsuspecting maiden?”

“M-Milord…”

“It is very important to me, Laslow, that you speak only the truth. Do not try to spare my feelings. What is it that you truly feel for me?”

Xander can see the frustration. Concern, fear, sorrow, it all blends together. Even Xander is unsure what he will do with this knowledge. It will be easier for them both if Laslow says he cares for him as his liege but nothing more. Xander will be able to justify moving on to arrange his own marriage, and Laslow will be welcome to flirt with women as he pleases.

But Laslow does not choose the easy path. “I-I… I am in love with…” He begins, but he hesitates and his hands draw tighter around Xander’s once more. “I am in love with you, milord, but my feelings have little consequence to the good of Nohr.”

Laslow is in love with him. Xander wants to be uncomfortable with it. He wants to push it away so that he can do as is expected of him: take a queen, have a handful of children…but then he peers into Laslow’s eyes and takes in just how nervous he looks. Laslow is in love with him but he feels it does not matter for he is not what Nohr needs. Xander wonders if Laslow has considered not what his king needs, but what  _ Xander  _ does, as an ordinary man.

Xander does not want to take a queen. Certainly not now, at least, when Laslow is in love with him and he thinks he loves him too. Certainly not when Laslow has obediently put his heart on display for his King. It is his duty to keep it safe. He has only one free hand and he uses it to tilt Laslow’s chin up so he can kiss him. Laslow’s lips move slow against his, uncertain. Then he parts his lips and pushes himself onto his toes to meet the kiss with vigor. He untangles his hands from Xander’s and instead slides them to hold Xander’s face. Laslow’s touch is tentative. 

So Xander takes it upon himself to clarify his intentions by setting a heavy hand on Laslow’s hip to guide him closer and by saying “I love you, as well,” between kisses that are rapidly growing warm. He is uncertain if what he feels is love—he has never truly loved anyone apart from his siblings before—but the way that Laslow knots his fingers into his hair and pulls his face closer to deepen their kiss is very convincing.

Laslow’s tongue is in his mouth quickly. He is being quite forward…it is nice. What was once reassurance for himself, of their feelings, has suddenly escalated into something more. His body language is confident and strong, the way he acts when he truly knows what he wants. Xander has seen his confidence before, but he has never appreciated it as much as he does now, when Laslow’s hips swing forward to meet his own.

There are times that Xander wonders if Laslow holds his hand out of pity, if he kisses him out of obligation, but those thoughts are wiped away with the swipe of Laslow’s tongue over his teeth, because for once it is painfully clear that Laslow wants every bit of this relationship; so badly that he is willing to take it by force if necessary.

Of course there is no force required. It is comfortable to let his guard down for Laslow. The idea that distance might come between them is devastating. So devastating that it seems wise to ensure the little distance that is left is eliminated. Xander slides his hand to the belt at Laslow’s waist. He fumbles with it with one hand and it causes Laslow to hesitate against his lips. For a breath’s time Xander thinks he has pushed it too far, but then Laslow’s lips curl into a smile against his own. He reaches down, brushes Xander’s fingers out of the way, and unfastens the belt to toss it, along with the pouch and sword attached to it, aside. They clatter to the floor and Laslow leans his body close again, begins plucking at the buttons of Xander’s vest with nimble fingers.

Xander can’t particularly recall a time when it felt so difficult to remove casual clothing. Even so he fumbles to get Laslow’s vest open, then his shirt, and to help him shrug that off. His hands ghost over Laslow’s bare shoulders, and then he slides his palm down Laslow’s chest, very specifically dragging his fingertips along his nipple on the way down.

An obvious chill runs through Laslow that makes Xander pause, and then smirk. Laslow reaches out to rid Xander of his shirt too, and his hand ghosts over his king’s abs before he hesitates briefly and looks back up at Xander through his lashes. “Milord are you sure…” He begins, but Xander has none of it. He lays a peck upon Laslow’s kiss-swollen lips and then he removes his own shirt.

It must not hit Laslow until the moment that he has stepped out of the last of his trousers and smallclothes and he is standing in front of Xander wearing nothing but a blush. “Ha,” he laughs awkwardly, and he steps closer. Close enough that his body is pressed flush to Xander, where he can hide his growing blush in his king’s embrace but Xander is not fooled by it. Laslow’s skin burns with his arousal and his shyness turns into precise kisses along Xander’s chest and collarbone.  

Xander briefly thinks that Laslow has lost his confidence but he is proven wrong when his retainer slides his hands beneath the waist of his pants and guides them down, as well. It seems he thinks he shouldn’t be the only one on display. He may be right. While Laslow pushes away his pants Xander lays his hands on his waist and presses heated, short kisses down the length of Laslow’s neck and shoulder. Where the two meet he bites down and sucks hard on the flesh. Laslow’s knees buckle and he rocks his hips forward into Xander. He sucks a purple bruise onto Laslow’s skin and he moans and Xander’s cock twitches between them.

“Come to bed with me.” Xander rasps into the angry skin of Laslow’s neck. Laslow nods his head yes and he lets Xander pull him by his wrists and together they fall back into the sheets. Laslow falls overtop Xander and his hair tickles Xander’s nose briefly before he tucks some of his bangs behind his ear. Laslow leans down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“What possessed me to ask you to dance with those women?” He asks in a voice that is part playful but mostly breathy with desire. He slides his fingers forward and twists them up in Xander’s curls, and he pulls them when he leans in to kiss his mouth again. Xander slides his hands along the expanse of Laslow’s sides, past his hips and his palms come to rest overtop his rear. Immediately Laslow’s cheeks turn bright, but he hums a sweet moan into Xander’s mouth like it's alright to continue. 

With their bodies flush together, with Laslow on top of him and squirming into his kisses Xander knows he would choose Laslow over someone else any day. Xander squeezes his bottom, raises his hips to meet Laslow’s, and groans with the friction of their cocks rubbing past each other.

Xander could have dismissed Laslow to that ball, could have been doing his work, but he has never been better distracted by his smiley, flirty retainer. He is distracted by him again when he peels his lips away. He only hesitates to nip his bottom lip between his teeth and then says, “We need oil.” Those are words that make heat bubble in Xander’s stomach because yes—they do need oil, because Laslow is still pushing the boundaries of what they should and shouldn’t and can and can’t.

The vial of oil that Xander keeps in his bedside drawer is nearly full because he very rarely finds the time or energy to pleasure himself when he is swamped with work until he falls asleep at his desk. Laslow doesn’t comment on that fact when he takes it into his hands. He just holds it close to him, like he may be lost in thought for a moment or three and then he tilts his eyes up to Xander as if seeking reassurance. This is real, isn’t it? Xander nods his head and Laslow exhales.

He uncorks the oil and pours it over his fingers and some of it dribbles down to Xander’s stomach, because Laslow has shifted so he is on his knees and straddling the king. Not even an entire breath later he braces one of his hands on Xander’s hip and with the other he slides not even just one, but two fingers into himself. It is then that Xander begins to suspect it; Laslow has done this to himself before.

He doesn’t think he will ever forget the sight of his retainer kneeling over him like that, biting his lip and sliding his own fingers in and out of himself. Laslow is obviously confident in himself, in this… that is, until their eyes meet. Then very suddenly Laslow doesn’t seem confident at all. He squeaks back what might be a moan and he looks anywhere at all to avoid looking into Xander’s eyes. His cheeks are so brightly red that Xander actually pushes himself up to touch his face and cool it with his hands.

Laslow sighs and lays his cheek in Xander’s hand. “Please don’t… say anything.” He begs, and it overlaps with the sound of his breath hitching while he opens himself up.

Xander, in turn, chuckles low in his throat. He obeys the request and doesn't say anything, yet. Later, however, he will be sure to ask what sort of things Laslow has been doing to himself in his room at night—and he will certainly be tempted to ask if there is room for Xander to do those things to him as well… because he does not think this will be a one-time tryst. He truly believes that Laslow’s love for him must be a sign. He may not have to do everything exactly the way he is expected to.

He is distracted from his thoughts when Laslow grips his cock. He lifts his hips just enough that it is clear he wants more. Laslow smiles down at him, his eyes blown dark while he coats his waiting cock from base to tip in the excess of the oil from his fingers. It twitches and pulses in his hands and Laslow’s eyes turn just a hint more desperate. “Milord, may I…” He begins.

“Yes, now,” Xander answers before the whole question has left his mouth. Laslow breathes out his relief in a beautiful sigh and he climbs onto Xander’s cock to take his seat. While he sinks down he is slow, but steady. With every inch he takes his body clenches tight, every handful of seconds he has to stop and breathe and then continue. When he is finally fully seated his breath is horribly uneven and his chest is as pink as his cheeks and both of those things only serve to make him more beautiful to Xander—who is overwhelmed.

He has not done this before, and while he is not always keen on admitting that his mind screams it at him now because he was not properly prepared for the heat of it all. Laslow is hot and slick with oil and he is encased in pleasure that makes even Xander’s cheeks dust pink. It’s tight but also feels natural; there is no resistance and Laslow seems comfortable enough… and so he rocks his hips up into him, once.

“Ah— _ wait.”  _ Laslow gasps and his hips twitch like he is trying to escape. The sound of his voice alone makes it a struggle to obey his request. It is a challenge to only watch while Laslow processes what is happening, to watch him decide the best course of action. Laslow’s palm is hot on Xander’s chest when he shifts to brace his weight there. His thighs tremble and he cautiously, experimentally rocks his hips forward. He gasps and his legs shake and Xander places his hands on Laslow’s hips to stabilize him.

Laslow’s bangs hang low in in front of his face and his blush comes back momentarily. He laughs, awkwardly, nervously, but he says “Please—I can do this.”

Could Laslow think he is doing something wrong? He is not, and Xander rubs reassuring circles into Laslow’s hips. “Take what time you need.” But not too long, he hopes, because he does not know that he can hold himself back. He can see in Laslow’s shoulders that he is tense, he can tell by the way he bites down on his lip he is trying to do too much, too fast… and perhaps it is up to Xander to help him relax? He slides his hands up the length of his sides, back down to his thighs, and up to his hips again. “Breathe,” He says.

Right away Laslow sighs, slow and content and he smiles something shy. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Xander’s chest. “You’re being quite patient with me, my king.” His words are hushed but certainly grateful. Somewhere down the line Laslow’s cock has wilted, but Xander decides to correct that situation. He wraps his hand around the half-hard length and Laslow hesitates to look down at what he is doing. Xander tugs his cock back to hardness easily, and soon with every stroke Laslow begins to rock into his hand to meet him.

Laslow’s voice is gorgeous, he has sing-songy moans that make Xander shudder. He sets his pace in time with Xander’s hand on his cock, and sure enough he gets the hang of it. He spreads out his fingers over the center of Xander’s chest and he rocks himself back onto him until he is nearly bouncing fast and coming down hard and with every desperate roll of his hips Xander bottoms out inside of him.

Xander smears the precum that has gathered at the tip of Laslow’s cock across his head with his thumb before he moves his hand away. Laslow whines, his cock bobs in the air where he has lost all sense of friction. It is a weak protest and it is easily replaced by a surprised yelp when Xander pulls Laslow’s hand out from under him.

Laslow falls into Xander’s chest and his forehead lands against the crook of his neck and he grumbles at him. “I wouldn’t mind fair warning.” He says, and Xander chuckles low in his throat. It is an amusing complaint and it is masked by a moan when Xander shifts to grind into him again. Laslow’s ragged breath brushes across Xander’s neck like a kiss, his cock twitches between them, and he begs. “ _ Milord, please,” _

Xander’s hands wander down Laslow’s back, leave red scratch marks in their wake and Laslow’s whole back arches. Finally Xander’s hands come to rest on Laslow’s bottom, where his grip is almost bruising but he spreads Laslow’s cheeks wide and pulls him down onto his cock swiftly. It is Xander’s turn to set the pace and his thrusts into Laslow are  _ rapid _ .

Laslow comes undone. His moans are a sob into Xander’s skin and his fingernails cling to his king anywhere they can. He is loud—too loud—and he mutes himself in the best way possible by sinking his teeth into Xander’s neck. Xander grunts but the sting of that bite sends a jolt of pleasure right to his cock, and really Xander’s grunt becomes more of a pleased groan.

While Xander fucks deep into Laslow with intemperance Laslow moans loud, kisses the angry skin of his neck apologetically, and he works to meet each thrust halfway. Their heartbeats feel in time with the slapping of their skin together. Xander’s breath becomes ragged as he draws close—too close. Heat pools in his groin and his hips jerk twice of their own accord and he desperately pulls Laslow’s hips down onto his cock. He comes with Laslow’s name on his lips in a gasp and then he sucks in deep breaths like he has forgotten how to breathe this whole time.

Laslow sits back up shakily. He rocks a time or two against Xander’s cock while it spills the last of his orgasm into him… but he sways and his poor, swollen cock twitches in a pool of precum on Xander’s middle. He whimpers until Xander looks up into his eyes. “Please— _ please, _ ” He whines. He is hardly even through the words before Xander is rocking hard as he can muster into Laslow again, and his hand comes back to stroke his neglected cock in tandem. Finally Laslow sucks in a gasp and his fingernails dig into Xander’s thighs to ground him while he comes white hot and in frantic spurts.

Laslow’s body is tense when he comes at first and he is wrapped almost too tight around Xander’s still twitching cock. But then he comes down from his high, no doubt a fallen angel, and Xander pulls him down into his sheets with him. Their bodies fall apart from one another but their lips are reunited again soon enough in cloudy, lazy kisses. Xander rolls onto his side and lays his arm over Laslow’s waist. 

Laslow’s eyes close like he’s exhausted and he might just fall asleep. Xander knows his expression must reflect the swell of affection he has for him, for this man who loves him and who protects him and who makes sure he doesn’t work himself to an early grave. “Laslow,” He says, before he can fall asleep.

Laslow peeks open just one eye. “Yes, my king?”

“Was it your intention all along to bed your king, tonight?” Xander asks it with a tone that could almost be taken seriously, but Laslow knows him well enough to see the humor in it. Or at least, Xander assumes he does, but then Laslow opens his other eye and looks almost offended.

But it melts into one of his stunning smiles. He doesn’t speak though, says nothing at all when he shifts his arm back and gropes around until he finds something—a throw pillow—and he halfheartedly whacks Xander in his head. “It was my intention to make sure you were alright, milord. I came here with only your best interests in mind.”

“And so you attack me? In my own bed?” Xander asks, and he tosses the pillow to the floor while Laslow snorts out a laugh.

“Am I to be punished?” He asks. “Will you have me exiled? Arrested? Charged with treason?”

Xander shakes his head and lays a kiss to silence Laslow on his lower lip. He closes his eyes then, and holds his bedmate tight and tucks Laslow close to his chest because he does not intend to let him leave. “I am considering house arrest.”

He only smiles when Laslow whines into his neck.

 


End file.
